


The Little Things

by Hiddlefun



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Established Relationship, Feefshipping, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, Thiefshipping, alcohol mention, drug mention, eating disorder mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiddlefun/pseuds/Hiddlefun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakura and Marik both have their own little ways of showing that they care, even if they won't admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> A little one-shot drabble to try out writing for these two. Both Marik and Bakura are in their 20's in this fic. Companion fanart to follow. Translation notes at the end.

The Little Things

It had been each other’s “bigness” that had always drawn them to each other. They were both so big in everything—personality, pyrotechnics, and, well, other areas as well. Those that knew of their partnership (and there weren’t many) always assumed that they would go out one of a few ways.

The leading theory was currently that they would grow bored or irritated with each other, and one or both of them would selfishly betray the other, if only to stir the pot a little (they are both villains, after all). Another possibility was, of course, that they would simply lose interest and part ways without so much as a nod to each other. The third idea, and perhaps the most terrifying one, was that, over the top as they both are, they would both get so caught up in one-upping each other that they’d burn down everything around themselves just to get a reaction from their partner, an admission that one had bested the other.

The latter was perhaps the most likely end to their relationship, but still relied upon the idea that their relationship would ever end. As such, they were all faulty.

At their cores, both Bakura and Marik are largely the same—both thieves, both capable of cruelty, both a little starved for love, both at least a little prone to theatrics, and both of the criminal persuasion. Beyond that, they’re both people that have been denied contact with other people until they convinced themselves that they not only don’t need others, but never, ever want them near. One given to brutal cruelty, the other prone to simply taking over minds, neither has remarkable communication or people skills. This often lead to explosive anger and quiet fuming. When arguments don’t turn ugly, the emotions that drive them are swallowed dry, burning through their throats and filling them up inside. But gods, when things were calm? In post-coital satiation, or those scant, precious moments where their minds were both quiet? There was no match better, no couple closer.

But, unlike their own personalities, their relationship had middle ground. Together, they might not find balance, but they found the support (and though neither would ever verbally confess it, caring) they both desperately needed.

Being villains (“former villains” to the unsuspecting Yugi and Co., of course), neither member of the pair had very healthy ways of coping with their copious amounts of typically protagonist-induced stress. (Marik had spent a great deal of time attempting to convince Bakura that, no, arson was not generally considered a healthy coping strategy. Not that he would know, of course, but he had it on good authority from Ishizu that there were healthier ways to vent.) Of course, neither Bakura nor Marik were the sort to stress cry. Marik was too vain to stress eat, and Ryou had demanded that Bakura quit using his body for binge-eating. Neither got too heavy into drugs, stress drinking made them into angry drunks. Sex, admittedly, was their best bet at finding some form of relief. It was enjoyable, stress-relieving, and gave them excuses for gentle, casual touches afterwards that they were both too emotionally constipated to admit they really enjoyed. 

However, both realized that the other sometimes needed more. It took some time, and was truly very subtle (so much so, in fact, that it would not be a stretch to suggest that the efforts made were largely subconscious), but eventually, both found ways to help the other come down from those times in which they believed they could never be whole again. 

Bakura was, of course, first and foremost, a thief. Even now that they were both living quite comfortably, he could not deny the impulse to take what wasn’t his, whether he actually wanted it or not. But as of late, Bakura had found himself taking things with a sort of pattern. He would catch Marik entering an implosive, depressive episode (the sort that he knows addressing will just lead to a very angry, combative, in-denial Marik, which is never good in his experience), and immediately leave the house. While he was giving Marik time to wallow or think, he would stop by a bookstore, or walk along the stalls of the street market.

He’d take a few things here and there, sometimes planting them on other people to create a little havoc and entertainment. After he’d had his fill of fun and was safely on his way back home, he’d check over his new hoard. There would generally be the few odd baubles and ends, a lighter or two, a little figurine (or five) that he suspected was actually Ryou just taking over momentarily to feed his own collections, maybe some candy, and—well, that was just the thing. The items he’d take were always different, seemingly unrelated, but all fit a certain theme.

Past items had included a bag of sugared dates, a thing of incense here and there, a small metal toy motorcycle, some kohl, a few golden rings, and some books in Arabic. Individually, there was nothing special about the items. He’d certainly stolen far more valuable and interesting things in any one of his lifetimes. They were nothing impressive. But if Bakura started leaving them by Marik’s bedside, or if Marik’s dark episodes were a little lighter and a little farther in between, or the two of them were a little more cuddly than usual that week, well. That could just be a matter of coincidence. And if the little not-gifts started being lined up alongside Marik’s precious valuables, and both of their cheeks were a little pinker when their eyes met, that was nothing worth commenting on.

Though Marik was a thief as well, his little not-gifts to Bakura were of a decidedly different nature. Sure, there were the random blowjobs here and there that always served to lighten both their moods, but the real gifts were a little classier, if just as thoughtful.

Marik had spent more than half of his life learning how to read and write in various languages, ancient and new(er). He was particularly gifted with hieroglyphics—due to their highly pictorial nature, he quickly developed rather impressive art and carving skills. He was also highly observant (regardless of what Bakura had to say about that matter).

Now, generally speaking, the two never really stole from each other. Sure, sometimes Marik would throw on Bakura’s boxers in the mornings on his way to the kitchen, or Bakura might hide (or “borrow”) Marik’s keys on occasion, but neither ever took precious things from each other, and certainly none of each other’s trophies from past heists. So when one day one of Bakura’s freshly lifted Zippos was stolen, he was perhaps just a teensy bit furious. He immediately stomped over to Marik’s side of their shared apartment and began searching for the stolen item. Hearing the crashing and cursing, a rather flustered (and not at all guilty-looking) Marik popped out of his room, demanding to know just what was going on. The ever-physical Bakura immediately pinned Marik against the wall and demanded to know where his trophy was. 

Marik didn’t even pretend confusion, simply dropping the twice-stolen lighter in Bakura’s hand with a mumble of “Careful, it’s a little warm.” Bakura looked down at it, finding its previously scuffed casing now engraved with beautiful scrolling patterns and motifs. An awkward silence stretched for several moments, Marik honestly quite enjoying the look of awkward almost-shame on Bakura’s face, before he blessedly broke it with a kiss to Bakura’s cheek and a murmur of “You’re welcome,” against his ear.

The second time a lighter went missing from Bakura’s trophy box, it was after one of their rare, but incredibly nasty fights. The slightly paranoid and very irate Bakura of course decided that clearly, Marik had stolen it simply for spite. Rather than tear apart the apartment again, Bakura walked straight into Marik’s room, ready for a second fight with his lover. Instead he found Marik in the dark, hunched under the single light on his desk, apparently fiddling with something in the soft lamplight. Bakura started to grab it away, but paused at the look on Marik’s face. He wasn’t quite crying, because that was not something either of them did. He wasn’t quite guilty, but neither was he remorseful for the fight. But his expression was steeped in a particular flavor of regret, that, okay, yeah, maybe Bakura was feeling a little now too. Marik brushed his thumb across the freshly carved Zippo, staring down at it contemplatively. 

ٲنَا بحِبَّك

“What does it say?” Bakura asks, eyeing the Arabic script Marik had engraved across the lighter’s silver façade. “Probably that I’m a massive ass, right?” Marik smirks a little, but hands it to him nonetheless.

“Ana baħibbak—it’s…” Marik reaches out for Bakura’s other hand, twining their fingers together and staring at them. “It means that I don’t want to fight like this again.” Violet eyes peek up at red through a veil of blonde bangs. “I don’t want to fight, Bakura. I don’t.”

Bakura stays silent, but wraps his arms around his boyfriend, kissing the top of his head. Marik shudders against his chest, wrapping his arms around Bakura’s slim waist.

The third time it happens, Bakura doesn’t get angry. He simply stands outside Marik’s room to await the inevitable attempt to sneak it back into his collection without noticing. The door opens slowly. Lavender eyes peek out to see if the coast is clear of his fellow thief. It, of course, is not, and said second thief easily swipes said little silver lighter. Several indignant squawks from Marik later (who is now caught up in Bakura’s arm, mind you), Bakura is admiring his newly redesigned lighter (this time it’s an Ancient Egyptian theme, with a few bad words in their shared ancient tongue just for funsies), easily keeping the squirming Marik in his arms. He presses a kiss to his cheek, unable to suppress his massive, genuine smile this time.

While Bakura brought Marik thoughtful little thieved gifts, Marik was busy artfully engraving and giving Bakura any lighter he could get his hands on. So, yeah, while things between them weren’t always perfect, they knew and loved each other perfectly well, and were always, always perfectly thoughtful of each other. And that’s why their sometimes perplexing relationship was so perfectly wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> (ana baħibbak) ٲنَا بحِبَّك - "I love you."
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at mamapluto.tumblr.com for more! Or follow my (mostly) thiefshipping art blog at doriangreyface.tumblr.com!
> 
> Feel free to comment, and thank you for reading!


End file.
